Shattered Mirror
by Catnip070
Summary: Silently, in the depths of his psyche, Danny Fenton's sanity slipped beneath the water... There was only one thing Danny Phantom could do. ON HIATUS
1. Smoldering

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Danny Phantom. Wish I did, but if wishes were horses…

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**-Chapter 1-  
-Smoldering-**

It ripped through his heart; he felt its roar in his lungs, the incessant climax bearing down, roaring through his veins. Though he couldn't hear himself with it pounding in his ears, he screamed.

_mine…_

Like a flash flood it decimated his soul, scattering debris of memories, washing away deeply-rooted morals. Falling to his knees his eyes poured waves, pale imitations of the tsunami battering his body. No part of him was spared. Then as the agony crashed through him, the wave collapsed on itself.

_my fault…_

Danny Fenton was lying on his side, trembling and drowning in the wake. His sanity scrabbled for purchase, seeking a constant, an anchor, a raft, anything to keep him above the riling depths of pain.

_how...?_

His eyes flitted about the smoldering remains of his parent's lab. Ghost-hunting equipment was scattered, lying in pieces, ectoplasm seeping out of cracked casings. Among the piles of now-useless junk, was an intact cylinder, with green buttons and a glowing display.

The Fenton Thermos.

That thermos that had sent hundreds of ghosts to the Ghost Zone. The thermos that had saved Amity Park by sucking up the ghosts Danny had faced. That thermos was handled both expertly and incompetently by Tucker…

Danny recoiled at the mental recall of his friend's name. His body involuntarily flinched and fought a spasm, caught up in the memory…

_Tucker-has-the-thermos-watch-out!Sam-kick-him-for-me-wait-a-minute-hold-it-for-a- second-now-now-Tucker-now!SAM!TUCKER!_

"NO!" he cried through his lacerated throat as his back arched with pain, not all of it emotional. The howl, barely recognizable as human reverberated off the walls.

Danny held his knees tight, rocking. Two bright blue rings of light flashed. His ebony hair bleached white, his eyes clenched tight against the light. If there were anybody left in the lab, they would have sworn his jeans and white T-shirt were replaced by bloodied black lab suit. If his eyes were open, they would have seen glowing green eyes trying not to overflow with tears.

Silently, in the depths of his psyche, Danny Fenton's sanity slipped beneath the water.

Danny Phantom's green eyes burst open. With a certainty that was not entirely sane, he floated over to the half-crushed storage closet where Danny Fenton's parents kept their more dangerous - and effective - inventions.

_To end this…_

… _to stop the pain…._

There was only one thing Danny Phantom could do.

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**A/N:**_Interested? Shall I continue? Critiques/beefs are welcomed, just no flames. (Though I may use flames to roast marshmallows…) This is the sum of a: late night + too many cups of tea + a poetry assignment + a muse with a wonderful sense of timing and priorities._


	2. Portcullis

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Danny Phantom. Wish I did, but if wishes were horses…

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_To end this…_

… _to stop the pain…_

There was only one thing Danny Phantom could do.

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**-Chapter 2-**

**-Portcullis-**

The door was hanging on one hinge, partly buckled in and blackened with soot. His white glove seized its edge, and ripped it off completely. Danny Phantom allowed what had been his temporary refuge to clatter to the ground.

_Danny retreated behind the cupboard door, waiting for the ghost's semi-apocalyptic death throes to end._

Silver and green metallic shapes were lined up before him in disordered ranks. Danny's parents had created all of these weapons and inventions, hoping to find and capture ghosts. Phantom grunted. It was ironic that they never found out that their son was a half-ghost – considering that they tested every new invention on Danny, the results gave them every reason to suspect.

His glove hovered over one of their newer inventions, the Fenton Disperser, designed to disperse all ghost energy in a certain radius, dissolving any ghost. The mushroom-shaped barrel winked at him. Complying, Phantom reverently picked it up and placed it on the blackened floor.

_No… not yet_

His eyes then strayed to the box resting on the bottom shelf. Dragging it out, he opened the lid and saw four parts that would form the ring of a circle if assembled.

_Soon…._

Without too much difficulty - with thanks to Maddie's clear written diagrams – Phantom managed to complete the ring and thread the ectoplasmic line through the designated breakers. Then he plugged the contraption in. Standing taller than he, the Fenton Ghost Catcher looked like a Native American dream catcher, except instead of string knotted and looped in designs, ectoplasmic line glowed. Danny had had the misfortune to go through this Catcher the year before, and was split – his ghost half being separated from his human half. Fortunately, both of Danny's halves were reunited again quickly.

Danny Phantom stepped back, admiring his handiwork.

_I'm sorry…_

He closed his eyes and stepped through the ectoplasmic threads. Where the string touched his face, he felt himself stretch to fit around it, stretching, stretching… And then he suddenly relaxed, like a piece of bubble gum that was pulled apart until it broke. He felt lighter – that made sense, because he didn't even have a human side anymore.

_At least he'll make it…. I'll take away what he couldn't manage._

Phantom slowly pivoted in the air, his eyes landing on a pair of blue jeans and white shirt. He saw himself – his human self, the one with raven hair and blue eyes hidden behind shut eyelids – collapsed on the ground at the foot of the Ghost Catcher, a puppet with its strings cut. Danny Fenton's wounds were bleeding sluggishly, his contorted face showing the unnatural red of a second degree burn, the skin peeking under his pristine white shirt scorched to the first degree. But even the white of the shirt was being coloured, stained by fluids leaking out of his parched skin.

_He'll be fine…. will he?_

The Fenton Disperser glinted again, a shadow of highlight running across its surface, inviting and tempting. Phantom ran his glove over it once more, and it phased through.

_No. Stupid… I have that Control!_

Concentrating, he managed to hold it for a second, he thought, before it fell through his fingers. Simmering with pent-up rage, he tried again, and again, but it was like grasping at a cloud, he couldn't do it. He wasn't even panting. He didn't breathe anymore, didn't bother to imitate the life that he wasn't. He sagged, floating an inch above the floor.

_Not even human enough to do that… no escape._

Danny Fenton hacked; spittle of blood escaped his lips, landing with a soft _splish_ on the metal floor. Turning his back to his human half, Danny Phantom shoved away the beckoning thought. The wave, the torment, was rising again; he didn't have much time.

_I'm allowed to make my own decisions… I didn't deserve it!_

At that point, Danny Fenton made Phantom's decision for him. Convulsing and screaming, glowing eyes widened as the truth lay behind him.

Pivoting halfway, green eyes locked onto a pair of blue ones as Danny Fenton squinted, his head arching to the side.

"Please," the word and more blood slipped past peeling lips. "Living…"

_He's not going to make it!_

Kicking the Disperser to the side, not noticing that he became tangible to do so, Phantom jumped ontop of Fenton, and pinned his legs and shoulders to the ground, ignoring that his white gloves were now smeared with blood. _His_ blood. The human's eyes weren't even clear anymore, unfocused and seeing something far away. Green eyes flaring Phantom hissed, "You need me, I need you. You can't, I can. Enjoy it - for the both of us."

_Thank me later…_

With this, Danny Phantom went intangible and fell into the ruined mind and body that was Danny Fenton. As he did so, instead of blindly merging with his human half, with a power he didn't know he possessed he stripped the other's psyche of the agony, the disjointed memories. Fenton's mind was running in circles, a greyhound running blind with its instinct to run, even from itself.

_Tucker-has-the-thermos-watch-out!Sam-kick-him-for-me-wait-a-minute-hold-it-for-a- second-now-now-Tucker-now!SAM!TUCKER!Tucker-has-the-thermos-watch-out!Sam-kick-him-for-me-wait-a-minute-hold-it-for-a- second-now-now-Tucker-now!SAM!TUCKER!Tucker-has-the-thermos-watch-out!Sam-kick-him-for-me-wait-a-minute-hold-it-for-a- second-now-now-Tucker-now!SAM!TUCKER!_

"Stop it Fenton!" Phantom barked. He quickened his pace; the other wouldn't last much longer if he hesitated. He wasn't even sure what he was doing, if he was hurting or helping. Danny's subconscious fought this 'foreign' invasion, and lashed out, spinning Phantom away into a fragment of a memory…

_ "Wait a minute, hold it for a second now," Danny prepared another ectoplasmic blast and delivered it. The ghost barely flinched and turned its searing gaze to the top of the stairs where Sam and Tucker crouched. "Now Tucker, Now!" Danny screamed. It opened its maw and belched a ball of fire, much bigger and hotter than any of the others._

_No… I won't let it happen!_

"_SAM! TUCKER!"_

_He streaked towards the ball of doom, breaking his 112mph record. _

_Then there was only light. _

Phantom wrenched himself out of that memory, but stumbled into another…

_ Family photos fell off the wall as their hooks liquefied; the smiling faces of Jazz, his parents, and himself curled against the heat. Danny cried out for his friends, but could scarcely hear himself. _

"Noo!" ripped out of his throat, and Phantom viciously shoved the fighting memories demanding to be recalled, and barred them away from Fenton.

_He can't take this. I can't take his not taking it! I've gotta…_

Before he could do anything, both the memories and Fenton's defenses struck. Combined they threw out the person who was trying to help. Get out, was the silent message Phantom understood as he was thrown clear. To the mind's eye a barrier slammed down, with a _thud_, as unwelcoming as a portcullis of a castle. Phantom retreated, having done all he could have.

_Stay in your castle. Don't cross the moat. I'll be here. _

Phantom opened his eyes, and willed himself back into his human form. He looked down, but he was still wearing his black lab suit. He tried again. Nothing happened. Then he noticed something missing – that little bit of 'heaviness' that he always associated with being a mortal and a human was gone. He looked through, _through_ his hand. Its outline was less distinct, seemed less solid than when he was normally in ghost mode.

_I'm not even a true halfa - or human – anymore. _

He felt for Fenton, but only came up against the mortar walls of the castle.

_If that's what Danny Phantom gets for saving us…_

Then he laughed. He wasn't Danny anymore. Leave the surname to Fenton: he was the real Danny - only a human should have that human name… Yep, he was just Phantom.

With that decided Phantom went intangible and flew out of the lab, a dark shadow among the shadows of smoke from his burning home.

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**a/n **Whew! I admit, the cliffy was fun to climb up out of. Anyways, do you like how it's turning out? What you expected/not? Confused? (I don't mind criticism/beefs – keep 'em comin')

Thank you ghostymangarocker, inspired-fire, Liaranne, Ransomed Heart (who was too lazy to sign in - I know how you feel!), Cyllwen, Anne Camp aka Obi-quiet, Jaded Rose Katara, Spongewolf, EvilRobotZombieLoofaOverlord, and Anawiel Dewdrop for your reviews - they were very encouraging and welcoming hugs and warm fuzzies !


	3. Subterra

**A/N**: _Yikes! Over a month since the last chapter! Regardless, I hope you will find the wait worthwhile!_

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Then he laughed. He wasn't Danny anymore. Leave the surname to Fenton: he was the real Danny - only a human should have that human name… Yep, he was just Phantom.

With that decided Phantom went intangible and flew out of the lab, a dark shadow among the shadows of smoke from his burning home.

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**-Chapter 3-**

**-SUBTERRA-**

FOUR YEARS LATER…

"Bernie, if you think I'll fall for that sappy face of yours, you figure me wrong. Raise you twenty," two crumpled bits of paper landed on the pile of watches, IOU chits and other miscellaneous junk.

The sniveling man named Bernie unconsciously fingered the edges of his cards, a motion that did not slip by his opponents. The stranger next to Bernie indifferently matched the bet, "I agree _Jackie_; he just doesn't have it."

The unearthly dark grey gloves the mysterious player wore shimmered, disconcerting to the other players at the table: there was something not quite _right_ about them. The gloves' owner was concealed for the most part in the gloom of the basement, a grey baseball cap brim over his face and the collar of a navy blue leather coat pulled up to his ears. To the other players, the only discernable feature was a silver ponytail sticking out the back; they figured people these days did weird things to their hair, bleach an' stuff.

"My–name–is–not–JACKIE!" the first player growled, "Why I didn't bounce both you out, I dunno. Come'on Berns, one of us has gotta fold and we all know it's gonna be you," he glared at Bernie, whose watery eyes darted around the room like a trapped rodent.

There wasn't much to sightsee. They were playing in the basement of some store long abandoned to lee-hour poker games like theirs. The naked lightbulb hanging from an extension cord over their heads swayed with the vibrations of a subway train. All the players absently grabbed the edges of their flimsy poker table until the grumblings of the train died down.

The gloved dealer nonchalantly tossed the top card of the deck into the discard pile, and flipped the fourth community card face up next to the flop. The three players stole glances between their hands and the new "turn" card, looking for the best card combination.

Somehow despite glares from the burly Jack, Bernie had enough nerve to stay in and hesitantly deposited two dinner vouchers to some restaurant, though it was nearly impossible to determine which, the two coupons looking like they had been crumbled several times and covered in slime.

Jack tossed a Rolex from his jacket pocket onto the table. He regularly played poker with Bernie, winning by intimidation as much as skill. As much fun it was to have a stupid opponent, when the shorter, mysterious player had appeared earlier in the evening fully loaded, he relished the new blood.

"A hundred, though I doubt that fake watch is worth that much," the grey-gloved dealer sent another barb in _Jackie's_ direction (who getting more riled up by the minute – the bloke who couldn't see the manipulation deserved to be called 'Jackie'). He didn't bother looking in Bernie's direction, evaluating him as an incompetent and cowardly player, therefore not a threat. Of course, 'Jack' and 'Bernie' were most likely pseudonyms – not even a dim a bulb as 'Bernie' would use their real name in front of strangers, the city wasn't 'secure', to quote the _legal_ security forces.

Without prompting, the silver-haired player 'burned' the top card of the deck again, and flipped the fifth and last community card next to the others.

"That's it!" Bernie dumped his cards on the mound of doodads and slouched on his fold-out chair.

"Praise be Jack o' the Ripper, the whiner is out!" Jack crowed as he tossed another bill on the pile. "Hello Mr. Franklin!" he leaned back, grinning smugly; today he felt particularly lucky.

The gloved player raised his head, green eyes piercing his opponent's from under the brim of his hat. Inwardly he sighed, _why do I even waste my time? _He tucked his cards in one grey-clad palm and held a hundred dollar bill in the other. "Call," he turned his palm face up and let the rolled up bill roll off the tips of his gloves into the pot.

Jack's greedy, thick fingers nimbly spread out his cards. Queen, 2, 7, Ace; all spades.

Without prompting, the silver-haired player laid his other palm on the table, covering his cards. He cocked his head and flashed a feral grin before his glove spread them out: Jack, Jack, Jack, 10, 10.

"I think this game is over," the basement echoed.

"How-how di'you…" Bernie stuttered, "You cheated!"

Jack surged up and towered over the winner, "I don't care, but get outta here!" He cracked his knuckles.

"Excuse me, is that a threat?" The target of Jack's anger yawned, and tightened his ponytail.

"GET OUTTA HERE BEFORE I BASH YOUR BRAINS IN!"

The soon-to-be-pummeled poker player then proceeded to play with the seam on the edge of his gloves, indifferent to the death threats being issued over his head. With a sixth sense he dodged the fist thrown in his direction.

This stirred him to actually get off his stool, "Sorry dudes, gotta collect what's mine." Again he brandished a cocky grin, which only enraged Jack further. Not standing such insolence, _Jackie_ cracked his knuckles intimidatingly and stepped forwards, winding his fist back for another punch.

Neatly, he was done in by a quick karate-like chop to his collarbone. Before he knew what was happening Jack was picked up by the back of his shirt by the shorter guy and was introduced to the flaking plaster of the basement wall.

"No interruptions please," the shadowed figure said softly.

Slowly Bernie came to the conclusion he didn't want to be here anymore and darted for the steps leading up to the store's backroom. Impossibly, the silver-haired man was already perched on the top step, "I meant _all_ that is mine." The back of the weakling's neck moistened and he rubbed his hand over his dripping face.

"Why not get this over with? I get you, I hand you over, I get paid. Nice and simple. Whaddya say?" the gloved man peeled off his shimmering grey gloves, revealing a set of fitted white ones underneath.

Bernie looked back at Jack, who had slid to the bottom of the wall. He shifted his attention forwards to the stranger and flicked off his sunglasses, "I say no!" Green eyes flashed as his incisors and nails lengthened and his rodent-like ghost nature revealed itself.

"Finally showing the _ratty_ ghost you are?" his opponent taunted. "Whew! Smell like a sewer alright!"

"You'll pay for that!" Bernie spat out drops of puke-green ectoplasm, failing to notice the silver-haired man's glowing eyes.

"Oh?"

Bernie, or the Rat Ghost that called itself Bernie, couldn't stand such calm retorts and launched himself forwards, nails extended and dripping with more puke-green ectoplasm. As he bounded up the steps, his intended victim of ratty ghost-fury stretched and yawned, the leather coat gaping to reveal a skin-tight black suit underneath. Not being very bright, Bernie he didn't register the hardened muscle under said bodysuit. The Rat Ghost also didn't note that his target noticeably hovered several inches off the ground. With a rabid snarl, the rodent-ghost slashed at the bared chest. The silver-haired figure effortlessly phased out and the claws passed through him.

_Ugh. If any ectoplasm can be called disgusting, this has got to be it. Looks like spew, and matches the ghost perfectly. _

Off balance from his clumsy attack, Bernie fell onto the railing. He started to phase through the floor, but his opponent kicked him in the ribs, flipping him over onto his back, and punched him twice in the gut.

"Who _are_ you?" was all the Rat Ghost could squeak.

"Do you really want to know?"

Bernie didn't have a chance to consider his reply because a white-clad fist bashed his face in. Vision filled with pretty stars, he instinctively lashed out again with his claws but was stopped mid-stoke by a vicious chopkick to the chest. Having lost his balance completely, Bernie landed in a stinking heap at the foot of the stairs.

A white boot pressed against his neck, and he looked up and saw for the first time a very dangerous man – or ghost, for only a ghost could have glowing green eyes. More than the other's fighting capabilities or the foot on his neck, those eyes terrified him: they were merciless.

"Do you still want to know?"

Knowing a predator when he saw one, for he was the Rat Ghost after all, the Rat Ghost sweated even more, if that was possible. With a little bit of increased pressure from the boot and under unblinking gaze of his better, Bernie for once chose the best course and promptly fainted.

The stronger ghost raised his boot off the heap of puke-emitting Rat Ghost, and shook it to the side, spraying sweat everywhere. Disgusting. A muffled groan from the far wall drew his attention: Jack had woken up and was on his knees. The ghost whirled and sneered at the human, finding no threat from that quarter.

"What, wha' did he do to tick you off tha' much?" the human unconsciously backedpedalled from the very dangerous ghost. It wasn't that he had hadn't seen ghosts before, but the mysterious player wore power like a tangible cloak.

"He owes me… in a way," the victor of the rather one-sided scuffle flicked some more of the putrid ectoplasm off his white glove.

"You… you're tha' one… the…" Jack breathed, "The _Phantom." _Uttering the name, he blanched at his audacity.

Not bothering to reply, Phantom turned back to his prey. Reaching into the inner pocket of his coat, he pulled out a pair of glowing green ectocuffs and professionally had Bernie trussed up in seconds, hands bound to ankles. There was no way that pathetic example of a ghost was going anywhere anytime soon.

"At least they got my name right _somewhere,_" Phantom muttered under his breath, as he collected his grey gloves from the top step. He remembered the stupid name they gave him, back at... He mentally recoiled from the thought, which scurried away like a rodent towards the distant fortress in his mind.

In this city, Phantom was _respected_, feared even, because whatever he set out to do, he did. And he was _good_ at it. He was in control, the job done perfectly without a scratch. No one could accuse him of being an incompetent coward like Bernie the 'Rat Ghost'.

_Except Danny…when…_

That traitorous silent whisper was viciously and personally chucked over the fortress' walls by Phantom himself. He wouldn't – or maybe _couldn't_, another whisper suggested before flitting away - stand insubordinate leaks getting in the way of what he must do.

Phantom focused his attention outwards once more, to his stupefied audience.

"Feel free to keep the pot, this pile of ectoplasm is worth more than trinkets," he nodded to the rickety poker table.

He then hefted his prize up over his shoulder in a fireman's carry, turned halfway to regard the room and fired a bolt of ectoplasm over his shoulder at the lightbulb. Before the pieces of broken glass tinkled to the floor, Phantom was gone.

Leaving in the basement one petrified human and a swinging extension cord...

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**A/N:**_ shivers Not exactly a cliffie – I was originally going to have one big chapter, but they segmented themselves neatly in the planning stage. And then I looked over this chapter again and decided to renovate (not quite a rewrite, but close) Good News: In between a summer course, exams and life, I plotted out the next two chapters (and the final one)! Bad News: the next chapter won't be up 'til August. _ ducks out of the room Ciao!

**Next chapter:**_ We get to know what on earth is going on: why does Phantom have a ponytail (the all important question), what has he been doing and where is he since he left Amity Park, and why did he beat up poor Bernie? (a few flashbacks thrown into the cocktail, shaken, and voila: a new chapter!)_

Green Phantom Queen: _Ah, the great mystery… the shroud shall rise slowly…  
_Anne Camp aka Obi-quiet: _More answers next chapter! (and more hints g )  
_EvilRobotZombieLoofaOverlord: _Thanks! Phantom is hardly perfect, but he is cool  
_Mako-Magic: _Phantom didn't dump Danny in some ditch, don't worry (though it would be interesting…) Danny's there, somewhere: they're not separate, sorta (whoops, did I say that? closes mouth with ducktape ), as to why/how… my lawyer says to stay quiet.  
_Phantomgirl515: _Won't have to wait too long (coughAugustcough)! Um…  
_bluish black dolpin: _ head spinning Thanks!  
_rikagirls: _Thanks! Listening to Evanescence (and getting plot/art bunnies) got me revvin' again!  
_ghostymangarocker: _ polishes executioner's axe If I killed off my victims, where would the fun be? Next chapter will have some 'explanations' which should answer your question._

Reviewer Challenge:  
Brownie points to those who can name the type of poker game played in this chapter!  
Extra points to those who can guess correctly the significance of the grey gloves! (Look back in the previous chapter for some hints).

**Questions/Comments/Beefs? – **I'll take any comments gladly! (and flames, for they shall be perfect for boiling some tea which I can certainly use for my sore throat)


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